


Nobody Else

by Fervious



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, M/M, mjs dead, peter finds out he gives people cancer and it destroys him, tony starks dead, tw: suicidal, tw: suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:01:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22664419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fervious/pseuds/Fervious
Summary: After the death of MJ, Peter becomes aware of the fact he's a walking and breathing carcinogen. He always has been, always will be. He becomes suicidal and Wade's the one who has to pick up the pieces of Peter Parker.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

Peter Parker can’t have anyone. That’s what he tells himself after MJ. 

It’s the heroic thing, to become celibate. After what he did to MJ, how he put her in danger. Got her killed. Why he never tested his semen, he doesn’t know. But then Deadpool showed up in his life again. Peter knows he’s on that godforsaken cheat list. He’s known ever since they left Hellhohle. He said he was going to pretend he didn’t know, but it’s hard. 

Wade’s the only person Peter can fuck without killing. The universe is laughing at him, telling him the witches were right all along. Wade’s his heart mate because he’s immortal and Peter Parker _kills_ the people he fucks.

It’s a dark night, a night where Peter’s playing Overwatch in Wade’s man cave. It’s lined with things Wade loves and adores and he wishes nothing more than the idea he can get drunk. He’s stupidly suicidal and Wade just finished putting fourteen stitches in his back. They fought after he was reckless in a fight. They’re not even in a relationship. 

Wade had said in a tense voice, “Why the fuck would you do that, Spidey.”

Peter had replied, all angry and hurt by the harsh words, “I killed my wife.”

“What.” Wade had stopped, shock filtering through, then denial, “No, you didn’t. You’re Spiderman. You don’t kill.”

Peter fixed him with narrowed lenses, “I’ve killed two women I loved.”

“Bullshit.”

Peter geot angrier, “What do you know, Wade? Huh?” his voice rises, “I can’t date.”

Wade, too thick to somehow read his mind like he wanted, “You’re just blaming yourself!”

Peter’s voice rose, “No, Wade, you’re just stuck with the stupid fucking fanasty that I’m the perfect hero.”

“Of course you are!”

“How can you be a perfect hero when you give people _cancer?_ ” Peter shot back.

Wade went quiet, eyes on his mask going far too wide. He reached for Peter, trying to be reassuring. Rather than allow it, Peter’s anger bubbles up and he snapped, slapping it away and standing up. He’s not supposed to walk. But he’s going to play Overwatch. 

And that’s what he’s doing. He’s kicking ass in Overwatch, despite how angry and upset he is. Gamers would call this being tilted, but if anything Peter’s better when he’s tilted. At least until he breaks the controller. It takes one too many kills by a troll playing Symmetra and the controller cracks like glass, crumbling. Fortunately the power button on it works, and he turns off the console before the urge to throw the controller at the screen becomes irresistible. Even angry, he doesn’t want to destroy Wade’s stuff.

Everything is radioactive. His blood, his semen, his spit, his vomit. If he continues to fight alongside anyone for years, he will subject them to radioactivity. Tony Stark might be gone, but if he was here he’d be the one telling Peter Parker he’s too dangerous to help any more. Every time he gets injured and someone gets blood on them stitching him up, he’s going to give them a dose of radioactivity. He can’t do it. Bruce and Steve are the only other colleagues who are immune to him. Steve’s more of a mentor, actually. Bruce and him are pretty level because Peter’s one of the next brightest minds after Tony died. 

He feels stinging on his back, the blood dripping from reopening his stitches from his pacing. Wade emerges from the bedroom, looking like he just had a full conversation with his boxes. Peter wonders if he committed seppuku in the tub again. When he sees Peter, Wade lunges forward with heavy cussing. He tries to get Spiderman to sit down, let him clean him up and restitch the nasty cut from Mysterio throwing him into old scrap metal. If he doesn’t, he’ll have to regrow a five by eight patch of skin on his back.

_His name is Peter Parker, and he’s literal fucking cancer._

He looks directly at Wade with crazed eyes, “I’m Peter Parker,” he introduces himself, “and I’m literal fucking cancer,” he chuckles. 

Wade stutters to a stop and hisses, “fuck,” before approaching him, “Stop,” he urges Peter. 

“Stop _what? Being cancer?_ ” Peter wheezes out the quip, taking a step back from Wade. He deserves to hurt, to die. To rot and not be alive. 

Wade’s properly spooked now, and puts his hands on Peter’s shoulders to urge him to sit on the couch. Blood drips down his back down to the sweatpants he’s wearing, and it smears on the couch, too. Wade pulls an old sheet off the arm and starts wiping Spiderman’s back down, then pulls a pre-threaded needle from his pouch and starts to fix the four stitches Peter popped. 

Peter relishes the pain, and for some reason he wants more. He wants to be punished, to be hurt a hundred times over. An idea pops in his head and he stares at a speck on the wall, “Wade.” he states. 

Pool’s voice is strained, “Yes?”

Peter turns to him, voice strained, “You gotta do it. You gotta unalive me. I’m a walking carcinogen. Burn me. Bury me.”

“ _What the **fuck** , Spidey._” he states back, his eyes wide as he physically leaned back from the man to fix him with a sincerely confounded look, halfway through the last stitch. 

Peter doubles down, “Listen to me. Every time someone forgets a small smear of blood on their wall, they’re going to get some radioactivity. Every time I jerk off, I contaminate the washing machine. Every time I piss, I contaminate city water. Every time I have to be stitched up, I’m slowly _killing_ someone else,” he pushes on, “Deadpool. Be a hero and _unalive me_.”

Wade stares for a few more seconds in complete shock then his face contorts, angry and upset, “What the fuck, Spidey! No.” he stands up, hands smeared with blood but he doesn’t even care as he paces away, “No. I am not doing this.”

Peter gets angrier, “Do you want me to do it my-fucking-self?”

Wade spins on him, basically snarling, “We will figure something out!”

“Like what? A cure to cancer? Went so fucking well for you,” Peter spits out. 

Wade reels at the low blow, “Yeah, it fucking did. I’m here, saving lives,” he reasons, “And even fucking better sweetums, it made me immune to you.”

Peter sits up straighter still, gesturing around the room, “Really? I’ve bled all over these floors several times. The whole apartment is contaminated. This couch needs to be burnt and the ashes buried. That table, too. The whole floor does!”

Wade settles down now, thinking of solutions to get Peter to calm down, “I’ll buy a house in the middle of nowhere. No civilians. Just us. Our trash burnt and buried. Hell, if it makes you happy I’ll burn the whole house down after you’re gone.”

It’s his turn to stop yelling and Peter does, “And what? I live in that box for the rest of my years?” his lens narrowed.

And Wade tries his best not to be offended, to not think that Spidey would rather die than live in a house with him. Lord knows blind Al had tried for years to run off and live her own life again. It wasn’t until she treated him like how he deserved and called him master, until he teleported Al and Deuce away, that he realized how bad he was to live with. He’d been downright sadistic for years to those who he called friends. The only time he hadn’t been cruel is when he was with Shiklah, and even then he’d been downright controlling, setting up fake skits to get Spiderman’s attention. He’s come a long way.

Yet, Peter was here. His house was free of empty pizza boxes, the kitchen clean, the trash taken out. His sheets had been clean until Peter had bled all over them. He actually washed his suit at least once a week, if not twice. It had been more than Al had accomplished in over fifteen years. But then again, it was only her last year that Al had actually believed him capable of change. That’s when he sought out redemption, tried seeking out joining the Avengers. Ended up joining then going on stupid missions with Spiderman to gain his respect and guidance.

He’d earned all of that, and now he’s gotta take the low blows. To understand what Peter’s going through, to not distance himself or let this get to him. Spidey had supported him through all his stumbles. 

So he steps forward, simply giving the man a hug, “Of course not. We’ll figure it out. First, let’s go house hunting.” Peter shudders and collapses into himself, the weight of the world lifting with this promise.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here u go, some fluff

It starts small, with Wade ordering food over the phone while he digs around for a laptop. It’s rare that he ever uses the thing and it’s actually only around because Peter whined about needing to go home and work on something as a college student. So, he’d bought a laptop. 

He sits down next to Peter, so he can see the screen. An excuse to get close to Spidey is a good one, but the man’s downright hysterical and he can push those thoughts about Spiderman in his lap right back down, thank you very much boxes. 

He opens up redfin and types in New York. Peter sighs, leans into him, and pushes his hands off the keyboard and replaces the text with Maine. Wade doesn’t argue. It’s where Peter’s going to live the rest of his life, he’s not going to fight the man on it. Houses in Maine are cheap compared to New York, too, so he’s going to be able to better afford something nice long term. 

They search through many homes and it really seems like Peter isn’t picky, he’s picking houses that look like they haven’t been remodeled since the eighteen hundreds and probably still use an outhouse. Wade’s not a fan outhouses so he overrides, saying he’d rather pay extra for a proper toilet. 

At some point Peter stops and rambles, “I don’t know why we don’t just buy a house. Look at how cheap land is! Twenty two acres for a thousand each. Too bad it’s near town. We need something rural, Wade. Something where there’s no kids for several miles, ideally no people at all.”

Wade had just listened, nodded, and tried to implement. If Spiderman was going to live somewhere for the rest of his life, well. He might as well pick it. And be as picky as he wanted. The man already had such low standards - trying to picky reasonably priced properties, that Wade wasn’t going to impose any limits he did express. All he asked for was a working bathroom. That’s about it. 

If it made Peter happy, he’d buy a camper and they would build a house. Wade knew Peter was strong and intelligent enough to do it, and maybe it’d make him happier than buying a flawed house. Peter was like Wade. He looked for flaws, entries, and exits to almost every building he entered. It was a reflex.

They set up appointments to view houses and properties. Peter had a panic attack at the idea of living in the _fucking woods_ for the rest of his life. He’d looked at Wade and said, “I’ve lived in the city all my life. What the fuck am I doing with my life?” then he’d paused with a restless hand in his hair, “Oh yeah, preventing cancer. _Hah._ ” 

Wade didn’t like how the man sounded more and more like him, but he predicted it would get better. He had faith in Spiderman. He had faith in _Peter Parker._

Peter’s careful when he inspects houses. He tells Wade he dropped a couple hundred on a basic house investor class because he was tired of fretting. It’s the first time the man used Wade’s money without being told to, so he just smiles and asks him what he learned. He points out structural faults in the foundation that require hundreds in repairs. He points out how fucking stupid it is to have doors that only swing inwards, references the _Cocoanut Grove_ fire and rambles about the history of building fires in the united states and how building safety has improved in the last hundreds years. 

Wade listens, puts in his quips about stupid choices, and bides his time. He thinks Peter is stalling, so he doesn’t have to tell Wade what he’s really thinking: every single one of these houses is flawed, and he can’t spend Wade’s money on something that’s flawed. 

One night, Peter falls asleep with the laptop open. There’s a blueprint designed by Stark on the screen. It’s for a potential house. The next morning over pancakes, he breaches the subject, “I saw the Stark house.” Out of respect for Tony, he doesn’t snark or quip. It’s not unknown that Wade wasn’t Stark’s biggest fan. He’s probably been unalived by Iron Man no less than eight times.

Peter looks up, “No. It’s too clinical without him. I’d feel like a specimen,” he reasons, expression heavy. Wade’s relieved. It wasn’t that he’d tell Peter no. He had thought Peter wanted to build a Stark design to honor the man, to keep on his memory. Wade commits this to memory. Out of respect for Peter’s loss- one of many- he will try to honor Stark in death as well. 

Wade drops the plate of crepes on the table and watches as Peter’s face scrunches, “Crepes?”

Wade smiles, “French Canadian speciality. In Maine, you’re going to be as Canadian as possible without really being Canadian,” he teases lightly. In actuality he’s stressed, he’s never made crepes before. Peter surveys the thin material, his fork drifting in mid air for a second as he surveys the powdered sugar and sliced berries over the top. 

He mutters, “Wish I could take a picture,” before cutting a slice out. The crepe is lightly stained with strawberry juice as it slips in Peter’s mouth, the red juice catching the light as it rests on Peter’s lips while he chews. He hums apperciately and Wade smiles.

Wade buys a car for the occasion. He’s tempted to buy a red ferrari, but he has a feeling money’s going to be tight. Instead he opts for something a bit older - specifically a red 1974 AMC Javelin Coupe with black accents. It’s not expensive so if someone comes after him he won’t be heartbroken over it being wrecked. 

When Peter spots the car, he squints at it with skepticism, “Stolen?”

“Yeah,” he’d lied. It’s not the first time he lies to Peter and it won’t be the last. 

Peter had shrugged, accepting it without question. He looked good in the seat, smiled when Wade had passed him a pair of sunglasses and quipped about matching the car. He’d unwound, his right hand resting on the door. There’s no arm rests, and it’s too cold to roll down the windows fully. Peter doesn’t seem to mind and Wade hasn’t seen him this serene in months. He’s not twitching his leg, playing games, typing on his laptop, or binging information. 

He’s just observing, watching Wade try to behave his best behind the wheel. It’s been years but the flow of actual traffic laws flows back to him and before he knows it, Wade’s smiling back and playing with the radio. It’s good enough to make him wish he wasn’t scarred, that Peter could see his smile without the mask. But he knows that Peter is Spiderman, and Spiderman has the uncanny ability to know even with the mask when he’s smiling. For now, this works for both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes several weeks for Peter to finally vocalize his plan, what he needs and wants. He turns to Wade, earnest and simple. Wade tries his best to be patient but he’s been strained in recent weeks. Peter’s been floating further away mentally, and Wade finds him staring into the distance more often than he finds the man actively working on something. 

Wade finds it disturbing. Peter’s inherently a busy person. He’s always throwing himself at a project if not three or four. The man sitting still, vacantly staring into space, throws Wade for a fucking loop. Wade tries his best to study without poking around like the blunderer he is. For all intents and purposes, Peter seems entirely sane just distraught and semi-suicidal. He’s not growing boxes or any other complex mental disorders. It still bothers Wade. Whenever he’s met the man in the past, he’s always doing something. Spiderman fights crime, accepts food, patrols religiously, and communicates with other heros. Peter Parker was an excellent student, an information sponge and Wade knows he’s got well received several papers to his name. Tony had respected Peter Parker in his own right, Bruce, too.

It hurts him to see Peter drift, but he knows it’s probably better than trying to understand all the ways he fucked up and did things wrong. Where he could have stayed a married man, retired with kids. 

So when Peter’s entirely present, clearly frustrated and wishing Wade could read his damn mind, Wade isn’t annoyed. He’s glad his friend is back in his body and experiencing the world with him. 

This morning, Peter’s pacing with a cup of coffee in his hand. Wade’s sitting on the couch, reading out the inspection report on the house they’d thought about buying, “Only fault is the heating, which would need to be tore out an-” 

He hears the clink of Peter’s cup of coffee settling onto the table and he wonders if the noise is intentional forewarning, because in another moment he has a man sprawled sideways across his lap, groaning in annoyance as he tries to pull the paper out of Wade’s hands, “Wade, this is fucking stupid. Let’s just make a checklist of what we want. We’ll haggle. Then _I’ll_ design it.”

Spiderman’s in his lap. He’s not being straddled, but the man is casually closer than ever. It’s comparable to what teenagers do with their friends, and not at all romantic in nature. He decides to take it in stride, “Okay,” he surrenders the paper to Peter.

He watches as Peter rolls over without leaving his lap, leaning towards the table to snag a pen. He’s using Wade’s knee to brace himself and stop himself from falling on the floor and Wade finds it stupidly endearing. Once he’s facing Wade again, he sticks the pen in his mouth, popping the cap off in his mouth. His expression belies the fact he’s clearly considering a chart. Peter and his little charts drive Wade insane, but he knows they’re effective. 

He flips the paper to the blank side, then props the paper on Wade’s chest. Wade shifts to better accommodate his writing, which Peter doesn’t acknowledge except to scribble what looks like a t-chart. He writes “Pool” on the left and “Spidey” on the right, which makes Wade smile. 

He writes down several things on his side including a laboratory, big windows, skylights, then pauses. He pulls the pen back, balancing it in between his middle and index finger as he pulls the pen cap out of his mouth, using his elbow to press the paper to Wade while he clips the cap on the butt of the pen. 

Peter’s twice as expressive outside of the mask as he is in the mask, which says a lot. For years Wade had wondered how effortlessly Spiderman emoted in a mask and secret identity. Outside of the mask it’s obvious that Peter is an extremely expressive person. He’s made himself even more open book to Wade, although Wade guesses he’s got several years of experience to his resume. 

The brunette worries his bottom lip and his eyebrow scrunches as he reviews his list, then scribbles additional requests. He looks up at Wade, expression searching, “What do you want?”

Wade thinks for a second, then replies, “Nothing all black or white. White is a bitch to keep clean and reminds me of experimentation. Black is too dark.”

Peter rolls his eyes, flourishing with his pen without noticing, “I mean amenities, not decor.”

Wade smiles, instantly amused and pulled out of his stare, “A flat screen and internet? Even in the middle of nowhere, I know you’ll need to do your research. We like our movie nights.”

Peter fixes him with a serious look, eyebrows dropping and pointing the pen accusingly, “You seem more worried about what I want.”

Wade’s smile widens and he retorts, “Some species of spiders are infamous for being picky nesters.”

Peter huffs to disguise a surprised laugh, “Are you suggesting I’m _nesting?_ ”

“It makes perfect sense!” Wade retorts, and Peter shakes his head.

Peter shifts in his lap to give him a more intense look and Wade resists the urge to move away as he fixes him with a serious look, “But really, what do you want?”

Wade hums for a few seconds, then settles on, “Proper weapon storage?”

Peter writes it down in his messy, not at all precise font. Wade tries to memorize how he dots his i’s and crosses his ts, where he forgets to pull back from the paper and there’s little flicks at the edges of letters. His t’s looks more like a four because of this habit. Like any respectable scientist, Peter’s careful to make sure his sevens and ones are clearly distinct from each other. 

Wade mourns the closeness when Peter rises up to grab the laptop and starts sketching on the screen. It’s lessened by the way Peter scoots up close, allowing Wade to watch as he builds a rough floor plan. It’s split level. The bottom half is partly in the ground, with egress windows for easy escape points even whilst underground. A garage, weapon locker, a lab, and restroom all wrapped into one level. Peter’s effective when he works and it’s clear that he’s thought about this carefully. 

The egress windows also mean there will be more natural light filtering into the lab, keeping Peter from working all night like Tony used to. It’s obvious he’s good at designing something functional but the actual materials and feel is hard to settle upon. It’s a war of convenience, safety, and functionality. Peter wants a place that’s safe for them to live no matter whatever happens, but he doesn’t want it to feel like Tony designed it. He wants it to be theirs, but he doesn’t seem to realize how much effort he’s putting into that.

Wade decides, “Blue, gray, and white,” he tells Peter, who looks up at him with a startled expression, “for the interior design. Maybe a tiny bit of red here and there.” It’s the colors of Peter’s suit with some neutral colors. But he doesn’t tell Peter that. 

Peter shrugs, and throws some colors on the walls. He’s an artist so once he has a set theme it’s easy for him to put down some basic geometric shapes and play around with that. Soon, he’s playing with the layout of their living room and his eyebrows furrowing as he considers how open he wants the area between kitchen and living room to really be. Wade notes with some amusement that Peter’s more focused on areas they’ll share rather than their individual rooms. Peter focuses on the arrangement of consoles to accommodate their combined gaming needs.

It takes two months for Peter to settle on a property. Wade asked him when they should hire people to clear the area for building and Peter had fixed him with a raised eyebrow, “What said we were doing that?” He’d been right, of course. 

He’s not sure how long it takes Peter, but the man clears the remaining rocks and trees himself. Then he starts digging for the ground floor. Wade pitches in and it becomes a proper team effort. His body heals too fast to get sore and they dig for four days straight. On the last morning, Peter’s sits at the edge of the evacuation zone with his feet dangling. His hands are covered in dirt, his hair ruffled and dirty. There’s a big smudge on his cheek. 

Peter’s no longer drifting. He’s focused and happy to build his own little haven. But in reality, it’s going to end up being a haven for both of them. Something about that makes it special. Laying the foundation and septic tank system is the first step, and Peter begrudgingly allows Wade to hire someone to do the septic. But Peter decides he has to personally mix the foundation himself and he’s intent on making sure Wade’s involved and invested. When it’s done, it’s nothing special. It’s a slab of concrete with walls level with the ground. But it’s their slab. 

The fun part comes when they have to shop materials for the walls and supports. Peter settles on something hardy and fire resistant, and Wade arranges for it to be ordered. They spend the time waiting for it to ship to make an acceptable access road. The lumber shipping is a hard process, but Peter handles it with grace beyond his years. Wade thinks the hard life of living in the woods matures Peter, but maybe the man’s just settled and happy now that he has purpose and isn’t putting anyone in danger. 

The first snow comes in October. Everything below ground is framed, the basement completed and functional. It’s empty of equipment or heat, so they buy a space heater and move their furniture in temporarily. It gets incredibly cold at night and Peter’s shivering more than he’s sleeping, which worries Wade. He begins more regularly tending the fire in the middle of the night, setting alarms and everything.

On the third night, Peter stops shivering. Wade panics, throwing caution into the wind and shoves their beds together, grabbing his blankets and tossing them on top. He slides under the covers, only wearing sweatpants. He wraps his arms around Peter who begins to shiver again, then settles into a peaceful sleep. Wade takes much longer to fall asleep. 

When he wakes, Peter’s already roused. Peter was probably too scared to try waking him up: last time Peter woke him up, he tried to shoot him. But Peter’s not tense like he’s going to jump away, in fact he’s got a blanket tangled around his legs where they’re brushing against his own. His expression is contemplative, with his teeth worrying his bottom lip.

Wade makes a noise and unwraps his arms from Peter, intending to withdraw entirely. Peter’s face flashes when he makes a split second decision and he grabs the front of Wade’s sweatshirt, forcefully preventing any extraction without torn clothes. Wade’s eyebrows draw in confusion. Peter’s voice is rough as his leg flexes and hooks around one of Wade’s, pulling himself closer and burying his face into Wade’s sweatshirt, “Cold.”

Wade is all confused and stiff and he replies with rising confusion, “Spidey, if you let me up I can put wood in the stove.”

For several moments Peter doesn’t bother to acknowledge that, but eventually he unravels enough for Wade to pull himself free. Wade throws a log into the stove, then hovers around the room. He considers pulling his bed back away from Peter’s. When he tries to act on this, Peter grabs him by the pants and pulls him close enough to loop a hand around his waist and force him back onto the bed. 

“Still cold?” Wade asks, sliding under the covers. 

Peter mumbles, “Spidey-icle,” and promptly makes himself comfortable by tangling his legs with Wade’s, tucking his cold hands between the two of them. Wade’s not sure where to put his hands, so he places them on Peter’s sides. 

He’s tempted to let his hands drift, but it seems unfair to start groping when the man’s half asleep and using him to stay warm. And you know, mentally delicate. So he stays hands off. Peter’s straight, anyways.


End file.
